The Sturdy Prince
by Lucrezia-Farnese
Summary: Prince Imrahil – Who was he? What shaped him into the fearless man he was during the Great War? What did he achieve? This is Imrahil's life as the handsome, courageous prince, who was a thorn in the enemy's side and the man who won a woman's heart.
1. The Many Duties of a Prince

Note: Firstly, may I say that you do **not** need to read the previous two stories in this series. Certain events are interwoven, thus making it a series. Nothing should confuse you, except possibly the character Agoron. Please be aware that I have made a character list at the bottom of this chapter to help with any confusion you may experience.

Secondly, this story is purely Imrahil based. A possible scenario on how Imrahil was shaped into the fearless, heroic man who was in The Lord of the Rings. I want to give him a human appeal. He is not invincible, he is not perfect; he has faults, and like all of us, he will have to learn in order to achieve that greatness he eventually shows.

Also, a note on the Romance genre – the main area of romance in this story will not appear until further down the storyline (in later chapters), and it **may** require an M rating. In the meantime, I hope most of you enjoy a tale of battles, family affairs, bonding friendship, lust, and the dizzy world of politics.

Thorongil (Aragorn) will also be making an appearance in this story.

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><p><strong>...<strong>

**April: Spring 2977**

The waves crashed against the sharp raggedy cliff of Dol Amroth. Dark clouds loomed above, threatening to release pales of rain. Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth stood on his private balcony, watching the fierce scene of nature taking place. It was a beauty and wonder to live by such changing elements. But now was not a time to be rejoicing in all the pleasantries one had in their life. The city was still in mourning for the recent loss of their ruling prince – Imrahil's grandfather – Prince Angelimir. The winter season, which had just passed, caused a pandemic of infection throughout the fiefdom. Imrahil's grandfather had been one of the unlucky citizens. He passed away the previous month, making Imrahil's father - Prince Adrahil - the twenty-first ruling Prince of Dol Amroth. It also made Imrahil one-step closer to the prince's throne; one-step closer to an endless duty and service. Was Imrahil complaining? He was not quite sure. He was more fortunate than most; he was given the best education in Gondor, had become a Swan Knight – every man's dream. He had the pick of women to dally with, and eventually marry. Yes, Imrahil had quite the life. But it was not as luxurious as it may sound. Being a Prince a Dol Amroth came with a sacred duty to protect those under his rule. It was hard work, and Adrahil made sure his only son and heir assisted him as often as possible. And it was this assistance - which Imrahil was duty obliged to - where his story begins.

"Have you overseen all the tax collections?" Adrahil asked his son, writing a letter as he spoke.

Imrahil slumped down into a chair across from his father. He had just celebrated his twenty-second birthday, and right now, he could think of a dozen places where he would rather be. "Indeed I have, Father."

Adrahil stopped writing and stretched. "I am pleased with you, Imrahil." He smiled, planning to enjoy informing Imrahil of his next assignment. "As you know I have recently sent a new batch of scouts to Tolfalas."

Imrahil nodded. "Yes, you appointed Captain Alagosson to overlook them."

"Well, I have recently received a report from our captain, informing me that a fleet of Corsair ships are sailing northbound towards the Bay." Adrahil handed his son a copy of the report. "I want you to take temporary command of our fleet, with Lord Agoron at your side, and intercept them before they reach the peninsular."

Imrahil was speechless. This was the first military assignment his had been appointed to. And he damn well deserved it, too, he thought. "When shall I make sail?"

Adrahil shifted through some papers. "It will take a few days to muster a large enough fleet."

Imrahil looked down at the report he held in his hands. "Captain Alagosson estimates that the Corsairs fleet varies around one-hundred and fifty."

"Mmm." Adrahil handed Imrahil another piece of parchment. "I have made a list of possible candidates; I want you to choose from that list your crewmen."

"How many ships are needed to be prepared?"

"Two-hundred, fully equipped," Adrahil answered.

"That is our entire fleet!" Imrahil exclaimed. "Should we not leave at least a dozen in dock just as a precautionary step?" He feared that, if an open-sea battle occurred, some enemy vessels may end up sneaking through their defensive lines.

"I will have two hundred archers along the seawall as a precautionary step."

"With all respect, Father, I do not believe two hundred archers will hold off an enemy vessel," Imrahil replied.

"Have faith, my son."

"I have faith in you, Father," Imrahil said, standing. "All I worry for is the city's defence while I am gone."

Adrahil smiled. "Our city shall do just fine in your absence. Besides, I thought once you returned you should visit Finduilas in Minas Tirith."

Imrahil raised his eyebrows. "As much as I would love to see my sister again, whatever for? Has something happened? Is she unwell?"

"Peace." Adrahil raised a hand to silent his son. "Your sister is fine, from what I have last heard. I merely thought you would enjoy seeing her again. She has not seen any of us since her wedding a year ago. Also, if our campaign against the Corsairs proves successful, I am sure the steward would like to thank you for your efforts in person."

Imrahil nodded. "Very well. But first I would like to focus on one matter at a time."

Adrahil chuckled. "Imrahil, when the day comes that you find yourself in my position, you will realise that you will not have a choice _but_ to focus on many matters at once. The business of the fiefdom never rests."

"You make it sounds so... appealing," Imrahil said sarcastically.

Adrahil laughed. "Some areas are appealing."

"I'm sure," Imrahil muttered. "I'll go and write to these men on your list so we can be organised to set sail within the week, if the wind proves to be on our side."

It was not a very long list, Imrahil noticed as he briefly sat down outside his father's study. Agoron was on top of the list, as was to be expected. Lord Toven was next. Imrahil enjoyed Toven's company in the past, and the man had a promising record of being a worthy sailor. Imrahil's uncle – on his mother's side – came next. Uncle Ablador was a minor Lord of Dol Amroth, but not a frequent visitor to the swan palace. Growing up it interested Imrahil to know why he rarely saw his uncle, but it turned out that Lord Ablador was a private man who lavished himself in his own family's attention and needs. He had three young cousins to his uncle, the eldest – twin girls - being only eleven years. His wife, Lady Lothuielil had died five years earlier in childbirth to their only son, Horon.

Lady Lothuielil, Imrahil thought, scanning the list of names. Her brothers, Lord Glamrion and Lord Aduialon were also on the list. They were Lords of the city, Uilben, which was located on the coast of Belfalas. His father had chosen well. Imrahil knew all these men had profound reputations of being educated, well-trained men of Gondor.

Imrahil stood up and walked to his apartments. There, his clerk, Mainion was sorting through the tax papers in the small room adjoined to the antechamber. Imrahil was yet to have his own study; his father told him he had to _earn_ the privilege, just as he did when he was Imrahil's age.

"Mainion, make a copy of this list and then send a message to each man on that listing to attend council here, in the palace, in three days time. Make the letter brief, and do not go into too much detail. I do not want word spreading that there is an impending attack from the Corsairs. People may panic."

While Mainion went about his business, Imrahil took the opportunity to visit his sister, Ivriniel. He knew she would be in her apartments; she hardly ever left them these days. Since their mother's health had declined further, their father was dependant on both Imrahil and Ivriniel for moral support. Ivriniel's main task was to look after their mother, while Adrahil and Imrahil were busy running the fiefdom. Imrahil knew his sister did not enjoy doing her duty; she hated seeing their mother so frail. Enough death had happened in the family, and even though the physicians kept telling them that their mother was still a long way from death, it was hard.

Ivriniel took the news well. "I have faith in you, Brother." She paced in front of the large window in her antechamber, holding a necklace of pearls her husband had given her before he died. "How long will you be gone for?"

"Hopefully no longer than a month," he replied. "If all goes according to plan, I am hoping to intercept them just after they sail pass Tolfalas."

"And if something should go wrong?" she asked, staring at him blankly.

"Nothing will go wrong," he said determinedly. "You have my word."

"Words are nothing more than sounds," Ivriniel replied. "They cannot guarantee anything. You should know that."

"Then what would you have me say?" he asked, finding himself dry of any reassuring material.

"There is nothing you or any man can say to make me see hope." Ivriniel moved away from the window and over to a chest of draws. "But there is something you can wear for me." She opened a draw and took out a piece of green cloth.

"Before I had my wedding dress cast-off, I kept a piece of it as a reminder of the luck I received from the Valar." She handed her brother the cloth. "I was lucky to have met a man such as He."

Imrahil nodded wordlessly and took the green cloth. "Wear it as luck."

"Thank you, Ivriniel," he replied softly. He kissed the ribbon before placing it in the pocket of his breeches. "Knowing your wise ways, it shall bring me much luck on the high seas."

Ivriniel smiled faintly. "I do hope so. I would hate to see you no more."

Imrahil raised a concerned eyebrow. "Sister," he said in a tone of warning. "Remember that conversation you had with Father? Do you remember the deal you made with him?"

Ivriniel sighed deeply. "I am not to vocalise my fears of losing those close to me."

"Exactly," he replied sternly. "You may think them and write them down. But please, Ivriniel, I understand where you are coming from, but I don't want to hear my own sister telling me that I could die."

Ivriniel flinched at the word 'die' and stepped away from him. "I know, and I am sorry."

Imrahil walked over to her and gently wrapped his arms around her from behind. He kissed her cheek. "When I return, I am taking you for a long, _long_ progress through the country."

He saw Ivriniel smile. "Really? You promise?"

"Most definitely!" he declared. "Have I ever broken my promises?"

"No," she confessed, turning around in his arms. "I would like it very much."

Imrahil smiled, triumphant. "Excellent! While I am away, you can plan our progress so we can leave as soon as I return. Oh! Damn! I forgot I must visit Finduilas in Minas Tirith once I return. Father wants me there for a few weeks."

Ivriniel lowered her eyes and nodded. "It is fine, Brother. We can go away after you have visited Finduilas. She will like seeing you very much."

"Do you write to her often?" he asked.

Ivriniel shrugged. "Occasionally. She always sounds so busy in her letters; I fear I am intruding in her new life."

"Believe me you are not. I am sure she loves hearing from you."

Ivriniel smiled and gently pushed her brother away. "You have business to attend."

"Trying to get rid of me," he jested, kissing her hand. "Thank you again for the token of luck. I shall wear it every day on my campaign."

Once he left his sister's apartments, Imrahil began his journey down to Agoron's house. The walk was brisk; he did not want to waste any time. If his city was in peril of being attacked by their biggest threat, then Imrahil would see to that said threat would be eliminated quickly. He was not doing this as a man duty bound to his people, but as a man who loved his homeland, and would do anything to see it kept safe and well guarded.

Imrahil knocked on Agoron's front door, but no immediate answer came. He stepped a few paces back and looked up at the second story window. "Put her down and answer the door!"

Ever since the downfall of Agoron's plans on marrying Finduilas, Agoron had been trying to move on... unsuccessfully. Imrahil tried to help his best friend move on by taking him to taverns, long rides through the countryside, and weeklong sea-voyages around the Bay. Fortunately, it had worked to some degree.

Agoron answered the door. "It was actually the other way round." Agoron grinned. "She had to put me down."

Imrahil laughed. "As much as I would love to jest, now is not the best of times."

Agoron's face darkened and beckoned Imrahil inside. "What is it, Friend?"

Imrahil took a seat on a stool by the staircase. "The Corsairs of Umbar are sailing."

Agoron handed his friend a mug of ale. "How many?"

"One-hundred and fifty strong."

Movement was heard from upstairs. Imrahil tilted his head up, trying to get a look at who the woman was. He turned to look at Agoron, an eyebrow raised.

Agoron merely shrugged. "They are good pastimes."

"Mmm," Imrahil agreed. "My father has given me temporary command of our fleet."

Agoron nodded. "As would be expected; you need experience in the field."

"Well I am planning on being extremely successful in my campaign against these cursed pirates." Imrahil drank from his mug, deep in thought. "It makes me wonder why they are sailing on us now. Why not years earlier, or years later? Why now? Has something happened that I am not aware of?"

Agoron ran his fingers through his dark hair. "You know very well the rumours of the Dark Lord rising ever greater in power. Perhaps the Corsairs have allied themselves with Him."

Imrahil nodded, contemplating the idea. "It does not matter the reason. I plan on seeing that _none_ of their plans came to."

Agoron smiled. "Do not be too hot-headed, my friend. It's going to be your undoing one day."

Imrahil laughed. "Most certainly."

Footsteps came down the staircase. A woman with fiery red hair appeared. She stopped at the bottom and stared blankly at the prince. "My lord." She curtsied low. Imrahil turned his attention to Agoron, glaring.

Agoron gestured for the woman to leave. She gave one last look at Imrahil – a more apologetic look – and then left in a hurry.

Imrahil pointed at Agoron. "I believe she was _mine_ last week. One cannot forget that head of hair."

Agoron shrugged again. "How do you think I met her?"

Through me, Imrahil thought. He could not help but laugh. "Keep her."

Agoron scrunched his nose. "Mmm... once was enough. She seems more interested in you."

"She may be nothing more than a tavern wench, but I will not have her come to me again now," Imrahil declared. "You can have her."

"She is not..." Agoron broke off, looking out into the distance.

Imrahil sighed. "I understand why you are acting like this; Finduilas was a major part of your life."

"I must not speak of her," Agoron said. "When she was betrothed to the steward's son, I was warned not to see her or talk of her again."

"Oh, let it go." Imrahil stood up. "What are you afraid of? Do you think lore master Denethor is going to travel all the way over here and challenge you?" Imrahil burst out laughing. "I would love to see that performance!"

Agoron chuckled. "He would not stand a chance. Besides, part of me would love to have the opportunity to fight for the love I bear her."

Imrahil grinned. "Perhaps one day you will."

Agoron took a deep breath, feeling far more relaxed than before. "Enough of women! What plans has your father drawn up?"

"Nothing as of yet." Imrahil pulled out the list he had retrieved from Mainion before visiting his friend. "These men are to accompany us. I was to choose, but they are all so... well you will see."

Agoron skimmed the list, nodding with approval. "These are all good men and sworn knights to your family."

"Indeed." He paused. "Agoron, I know I am much younger than you, and quite inexperienced. But I need to learn; I need to know how to behave, how to take command in these situations." He placed a hand on Agoron's shoulder. "I would never confide about this to any other except you. I suppose in some way I am asking for your guidance; a mentor."

Agoron raised his brow. "This is quite touching, Imrahil." He chuckled before turning serious. "I will be your mentor. And have no fear; this can be between only you and me."

Imrahil grinned. "If my father was still active in armed service, I would have asked him. But he is guiding me well enough in political matters. It would be too much to ask him of this."

Agoron nodded. "I understand. Besides, I have complete faith in you. You have never met a challenge with that shiny sword of yours." Agoron turned away and walked over to the table where his own sword rested. "You are also a fine sailor, too. But..." He turned around, buckling his sword around his waist, "I will make a sea-commander out of you; the finest they have all seen!"

Imrahil stifled to laugh when he noticed Agoron was being incredibly serious. "I am as touched as you were."

Agoron laughed. "You should thank the Corsairs personally to be given this opportunity of an open-sea war. They are quite spectacular to take part in!"

Imrahil nodded. He could not help but feel so naive and inexperience. But in some way, he was. The only military experience he ever had was routine patrols along the coastline. He was captain of the division that overlooked the lands surrounding Dol Amroth; so far, it had been quite dull.

"If we take one of their ships, I shall indeed thank them personally," Imrahil replied, sharing a laugh with his friend.

"I will hold you to that," Agoron said, pointing at him. "If I know anything about sea campaigns, I advise we start preparations for the loading of all the ships. Loading every ship of supplies is going to take a lot of labour, and we will have to end up paying overtime, if we are to sail within the week."

Imrahil nodded. He held out his arms. "You see, I am learning something new already."

Agoron grinned. "I am rather enjoying this! I must make a list of all the things I can teach you - good _and_ bad... or actually plain irresponsible. I have never met one sailor has not had an embarrassing tale to tell."

Imrahil laughed. "Well then, tonight we shall go to a tavern and reminisce on _all_ your embarrassing tales."

"You will receive your fair share, make my words," Agoron replied, opening the front door. "But then again you are already turning into quite the bachelor. Tavern wenches... honestly Imrahil! I remember Finduilas telling me how much of an innocent and well-behaved man she _knew_ you would turn into."

Imrahil laughed aloud at that. "That sister of mine never ceases to amaze me. She only said that because she has never seen my... lesser qualities. Both of those sisters of mine expected so much virtue from me it makes my head ache. I am rather afraid any son she bears will turn into a prude, little lore-loving lord."

Agoron's grin faded. "Is she with-child?"

Imrahil blinked. "Not to my knowledge. You know, they have been married a year, and still, now babe in the cradle. I do not doubt Finduilas' fertility; we are a productive stock. Perhaps that husband of her's is unmanned."

"Part of my hopes that he is," Agoron murmured.

Imrahil grinned. "For the sake of peace in this kingdom, I hope he is not. Lord Denethor needs an heir. The last thing we need is for the Line of Stewards to fail also."

"Then who would rule?" Agoron queered. "The Princes of Dol Amroth?"

"Oh, do not even think it!" Imrahil said, dreading the thought. "I am satisfied with the idea of ruling one fiefdom, but not an entire kingdom. I could not do it. I am not the man."

Agoron shrugged. "Well then, let us pray that your sister conceives."

"I am sure the entire kingdom is praying for it to happen," Imrahil replied. "It is odd, though. Maybe he is too busy for the deed?"

"Are you saying that a man would rather stay cooped up in an office than... than bed that beautiful sister of yours?" Agoron was shocked. "He must be unmanned."

Imrahil was glad Agoron was starting to lighten up to the situation. "I am planning on visiting Finduilas after the campaign; I will ask her."

Agoron stared at him. "Is this a jest?"

Imrahil shrugged. "Why don't you come with me and ask her yourself?"

Agoron shook his head. "No, it would bring up old feelings; ones that should forever be locked away."

"Understandable. I am glad I am not in your position," he said. "If I was, I would not have acted so acceptable."

"What would you do if the love of your life was given to another?"

"I would never allow it to happen," Imrahil answered. "I would plead my case and make sure she fought as strongly as I would."

Agoron smirked. "You have a lot to learn about love, too. Love is not easy. It can make you do foolish things."

"It was foolish of you to let her go as easily as you did."

"Would you call it foolish after your liege told you to stay away from her?" Agoron asked.

Imrahil sighed. "No, I would not. You have a point."

They had reached the docking harbour. People were hurrying about their business, birds chirped in the sky above, searching for pray. The dark clouds had covered the sky, threatening to rain at any moment. "We will not have long," Agoron said, watching the clouds.

"We will find the docking master and have him draw up a list of all ready ships to be loaded," Imrahil replied.

Agoron nodded, agreeing. "He can see over the loading."

"Right." Imrahil rubbed his hands together. "Let us prepare for battle."

"You seem excited," Agoron said, observing the young prince.

"This is my first sea campaign; every Prince of Dol Amroth dreams of this moment. I am glad to have one so early in my life," he replied.

"I am sure you will have many to follow," Agoron said. They walked over to a square built, stone building that had green moss growing in the cracks of the walls. Baskets – some broken, some new – were strewn in an uneven pile by the entrance. The smell of rotting fish and other seafood wafted through the dock. Trading vessels had been tied up in preparation for the storm that was about to it.

A seagull was stationed on one of the baskets, a rotting prawn in its beak. It flew away as the two men approached. It flew southward, in the directed of Belfalas' coastline, in the direction of Tolfalas. A storm was brewing on the horizon, and little did anyone know, that this hazard of nature was about to change the oncoming battle before it even began.

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><p><strong>Character List:<strong>

Adrahil: Current ruling Prince of Dol Amroth – Imrahil's father

Ivriniel: Adrahil's oldest child – Imrahil's older sister

Finduilas: Adrahil's youngest daughter – Imrahil older sister

Agoron: Admiral/Commander of the Swan Fleet – Finduilas' first love and ideal marriage candidate

Lord Toven: Younger brother to Lord Tarondor (Ruling Lord of Linhir)

Lord Ablador: Imrahil's uncle on his mother's side

Lord Glamrion: Heir to the Mayor's office in Uilben*

Lord Aduialon: Glamrion's younger brother

Mainion: Imrahil chief clerk (assistant)

*The town of Uilben is of **my **creation. After studying a map of Gondor and reading up on **all **the regions and current towns, I have decided to come up with a few towns of my creation to dose up the amount of Lordships.


	2. To Protect Ones Land

_The storm raged along the coastline, whipping up waves larger than that of a building. Rocks were torn from the peninsula; booming and cracking noises were heard as they crashed into the sea. Tons of sand was torn away from the shoreline; trees were ripped out from the ground. Roofs were torn away from buildings as the many accessories of maritime life were blown away in the large gale-force winds. _

_Away, in the distance, just south-west of the island, Tolfalas, a fleet of Corsair ships were blown off course; dragged further westward into unchartered waters. People screamed with fright down below in the hull of the ships - slaves and prisoners of raiding parties. Men were thrown overboard as waves forced their way on deck, taking all in its path. The ships were dragged further and further westward, past the centre of the Bay. Their attempt of raiding Belfalas had been postponed, their plan in shatters. _

**...**

The fierce storm had caused immense damage to Dol Amroth and its surrounding area. People roamed the streets, salvaging all they could find. They had batten down the ship's hatches at dock, but it did not stop the forceful winds from doing damage. They had lost at least five ships. Another dozen had their sails torn, the main and foremasts snapped in half. Over half of the galleys had been breached with water; men were hurrying about, attempting to prevent any galleys from sinking.

It had been the last thing they needed. Imrahil stood with his father at one of the docks harbouring their military vessels. Five ships were beyond repair, another seven needed serious fixing to the masts, the yards, and booms. They had a long job ahead of them, and their plans of sailing out within the week were behind them.

"It will take at least seven days to repair," Imrahil said to his father. "We have poles in storage, but we will have to get the lumbers working out in the forest. Our supply will dwindle quickly."

Adrahil nodded, watching several sailors detaching sails. "Hopefully the Corsair fleet was destroyed."

"We will not know for certain until we receive word from Captain Alagosson."

"That will not arrive for a couple of days yet," Adrahil replied. "Until then, I want you to overlook the repairs of our fleet. I want every ship able, do you understand?"

Imrahil hesitated. "Five are in need to rebuilding; it will take months for that to happen."

"They are the only ones I will exclude. The rest must be seaworthy as soon as possible." Adrahil turned and left for the palace with his escort.

The days to follow proved tiresome. Every evening Imrahil would retire to his chambers exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open. It was not only physically straining, but mentally as well. The streets of Dol Amroth were crowded with hungry people. Adrahil spent most of his days in the city hall, going over petitions for houses to be rebuilt, sorting out food supplies, and finding temporary accommodation for the homeless. As each day passed, it became frequently harder to handle all the commotion. A large list of names was nailed to the city hall doors, of those still missing and presumed dead. It was going to be difficult to find those bodies, and then find someone to identify them correctly.

The storm did not reach Minas Tirith; the steward sent ships of supplies to aid his greatest ally. When they arrived, people flocked to the trading dock in hope of receiving food. If the situation did not settle, Imrahil would have to deal with a riot. He, Agoron, and Lord Toven – who had travelled from Linhir to assist in the repairs – stood before the frantic crowd with a dozen knights. The young prince signed off the trading documents before boarding the first ship. It was full of grains, fruit, and vegetables. The next was full of livestock, while the third had linen, clothing, and medical supplies. Lord Toven and Agoron had managed to line the crowd into three – very uneven – lines. People were standing on their toes trying to get a glimpse of the goods that were being unloaded. It was not a quick process. Toven and Agoron boarded a ship each and the three men had to sort out how much supplies were able to be handed out straight away. Most had to be kept in reserve.

It had all ended rather well, with only a few people spoiling it. Livestock was handed out to the farmers to replenish their lands, while the city dwellers were given meats. Fruit and vegetables were as evenly as possible given out, while the grains were only given to each family by the scoop full. The linen and clothing was not as popular, but was handed out nonetheless. Finally, the medicine was given to the physicians of the city to help cure those still seriously ill. It had been a long and hectic day unloading those ships, and Imrahil felt more than relieved that it was all over.

Now he needed to turn his attention to preparing for his campaign. Word was now out that the fleet was being assembled, and the people were not happy about it. Protesters rallied outside the city hall where their ruling prince currently worked. Barriers had to be placed around the military docks to prevent people from throwing rocks and debris at the workmen. It was such irrational behaviour, and Imrahil felt disappointed in his people. Word had arrived from Tolfalas that the Corsairs fleet had been shifted westward further out the Bay. But their determination was their strong point, and they were continuing north-east towards the coastline. The people knew this, and yet they still disapproved. If Imrahil and his companions did not defend their coastline, then there would be more suffering and more plundering; more lives taken unnecessarily.

"It is because we are using up so many resources," Toven said, late one afternoon as he, Agoron and Imrahil sat on the deck of the Admiral Ship.

"They still need to understand this campaign is for the best," Imrahil replied, carving up an apple to eat. "I wish they would comprehend the danger of this oncoming fleet."

"People of common birth do not comprehend these sorts of matters," Agoron said. "I, of all people know this. My father was nothing more than the master of his own house. He had no title and no prospects. Only the noble are educated in a way that makes them understand the politics and necessitates of defending ones land. It may be hard to understand this, but the common people care more about the food on their table than the land they live in. Food will get them by, and what happens to the land is not of their concern, as long as it does not interfere with their daily lives."

"Then they should be better educated," Imrahil declared.

Toven raised an eyebrow. "And how will that come to pass? Will you overlook the commons education?"

"It will be one of my many plans when I become the ruling prince," Imrahil answered. "I don't want them to have an enhanced education, just to understand us better, but to provide them with a broader understanding of the world we live in, and the dangers we must face."

"It will cost a lot of money," Toven stated.

"I know, but it will be worth it in the end when the people are better educated," Imrahil stated. "And who knows, perhaps we will find a scholar amongst them."

"Only the Valar will know."

**_..._**

It was less than a week after that the seaward tower rang. Corsair ships were on the horizon and yet the entire fleet was not ready. Imrahil raced down to the stables and mounted his horse, Belan. He rode to the docks with haste and swan knights prepared themselves, placing on their armour, and sharpening their swords, testing their bows strength. As Imrahil dismounted from his horse, he ran over to Agoron who was already on the four-masted ship's deck at the ship's wheel.

"Only four ships have been spotted so far," Imrahil said, coming to his side. "I presume the fleet has broken apart, planning on targeting different areas." Agoron removed himself from the captain's position and allowed Imrahil to take control of the rudder. "Lord Toven is leading a small convoy to the small bay area of Linhir. I have my uncle and Lord Glamrion heading north to guard Cobas Haven, and finally, I want you and Lord Aduialon to follow me from a reasonable distance. Stay on our western flank, for I have a feeling the main contingent will by coming from the west."

Agoron slapped Imrahil on the back. "You're already doing me proud." He grinned. "How many ships are ready to set sail?"

"Just over half of our fleet." Imrahil shared a worried look with Agoron. "I have no fear on the matter; if the Corsairs have broken up, then they will be no match to us. I only fear them rallied together."

Agoron saluted his prince and left the quarterdeck. A man ascended the narrow stairs and bowed. "I am Lord Doben, son of Lord Glamrion."

"Have you come to serve under me?" Imrahil asked, not particular caring about the man.

"I am here to be your mariner," Doben replied, holding out a compass for his prince to see. "You navigator."

"I know what a mariner is," Imrahil answered, his brow raised. "Set yourself up over there." He pointed to an old wooden table at the end of the bridge."

The accommodation ladder was hauled up the side of the ship and stored away as the ship sailed out of dock and into open waters. Dol Amroth glistened into the distance; Imrahil saluted his city, swearing a silent oath not to return until all the Corsair ships in the Bay were destroyed.

"Such a beauty," Doben commented from behind his prince. "I have always enjoyed visiting the city. It is a rare treat for those who live in nearby towns."

"How does Uilben fair?" Imrahil asked, turning the wheel slightly.

"Very well, thank you, my lord," Doben answered. "Cobas Haven has been peaceful these past years. The town has been flourishing, and we have had no trouble with the taxes, or farming as we have had in the past."

"The drought we suffered many years ago caused much trouble in Belfalas," Imrahil answered. "I was only a child at the time, but I do remember my grandfather agonizing over dwindling water supplies. People were actually drinking seawater when they knew full well it would make them sick."

Doben chuckled. "Who has never drunk seawater?"

Imrahil gave Doben an amused look. "Childhood had its many experiences."

Sir Cebedir – Imrahil's second cousin on his mother's side and mayor of the town, Tarnost – stepped up onto the bridge and saluted his prince. "I have just overlooked the stocking of the armament, and the ballistas are being loaded on the decks."

Imrahil looked below. Seamen were rolling six ballistas, three to each side. It was their most formidable weapon against the Corsairs in open-sea. It was used to hurl long, heavy arrows at enemy ships, piercing their hulls, or hitting their crewmembers. The ballista was their only real weapon they had in open waters. They also had the swan knights, who were renowned for their skill with the bow; they also had to be trained in speed.

"You have done well, Sir Cebedir," Imrahil said, placing his hand on the man's shoulder. "I was in such a hurry that I did not appoint a First Mate; you have earned the title... for now. Continue your good effort, and I shall enlist you into the fleet for further service."

Cebedir bowed. "My lord is too generous."

Imrahil turned back to the wheel. "Go and make sure there is no chafing on any of the lines or sails; if so, retrieve the chafing gear and have the boatswain clean them."

Imrahil inhaled the salty sea air. Dol Amroth was now far into the distance as they sailed south. The enemy ships that had been spotted had passed in the distance, heading northeast to Cobas Haven. He trusted his uncle to keep the Haven safe; they had ten ships to rival the corsairs four. Imrahil wanted to find the main fleet, which was still probably stationed out in open-waters. It was how the Corsairs worked. They had a position where they eventually re-grouped and counted their spoils. On most occasions - with the threat of being attacked - this position was set further out west to avoid being detected. Imrahil was sure to give them a surprise; he had fifteen ships under his command, while Agoron had another twelve. Back in Dol Amroth another twenty ships were being loaded, and were due to set sail in the days to follow.

Imrahil turned to Doben. "We must start to flank as fast we can muster."

Doben was hovering over a map with his sextant. "By my estimation, I imagine the main Corsair fleet would be here." He was pointing at an area of sea, exactly west from the cape of Belfalas. "If we sail at full speed, we should reach there by noon tomorrow."

Imrahil nodded and turned around. "Sir Cebedir!"

His second cousin came onto the bridge and saluted. "Take the wheel, but do not try to over-reach our course."

The young prince had been sailing for several hours without a break. He headed down to his cabin, where the ship's cabin boy was waiting to serve him. "Bring me food and ale." He collapsed onto the cot, rubbing his face. The salt air had made him tired, and his face felt oily. He sat up and shifted over to the basin where fresh water was waiting. He pulled off his tunic and splashed the water over his face, his neck, and his chest. He picked up a cloth and dunked it into the water, squeezing it so it ran down his back. He already felt refreshed.

The cabin boy returned with a tray of food and a mug of ale. He dismissed the boy and sat at the table, savouring the smell of hot soup and bread. A sailor's meal; you could never expect a freshly cooked meal on a long voyage. It was a simplicity that Imrahil enjoyed as a sailor. He was not treated as a the same type of prince he was treated back in Dol Amroth. The men under his command onboard showed him respect as they would show any commander. Other than that, they rarely gave him any other sort of special treatment. He did not dress to impress, he was not cautious on how much ale he drank with his friends. There was no formality out in the open-sea, and Imrahil loved it. You could be anyone you wanted; sometimes the young prince even pretended that he was not a prince, but a simple sailor who had the luxury of sailing the seas.

Imrahil fell asleep and dreamt of the raging sea, as it had been during the great storm. A great wave crashed against the rocky peninsula, and then the sky cleared; Imrahil found himself on the shoreline. Everything was calm and peaceful. He heard a woman's laughter coming from a cave behind him. He approached the cave; the laughter continued. He saw her - tall, slim, and dark brown hair that fell in waves. She was smiling at him, waiting at the foot of the cave. She held out her hand, he took it, but did not feel her touch. She brought herself into his arms, staring deeply into his grey eyes. She leaned up and brushed her lips against his ears. "Pelargir." She went to kiss him, but the dream ended before their lips connected.

Imrahil opened his eyes, staring at the wooden ceiling above him. The creaking ship was all he heard, but that voice... it still rang in his ears. _Pelargir_... "Pelargir," Imrahil repeated to himself, trying to make sense of it. He groaned, feeling himself aroused by the dream. Damn his manhood! He sat up, wanting to throw cold water all over his body. That sounded like an idea. He had dreamt of women before, but this one seemed more... unapproachable, more poised by the way she stood. He shook his head, thinking he was a fool to become infatuated by a woman his mind had made up.

After a few hours sleep, Imrahil relieved Cebedir of his duty and took the wheel. Their header had changed, and Cebedir had no choice but to change course to a less desirable one. Imrahil turned the wheel, trying to position his ship to a more favourable lift.

"We are under way," Imrahil said to Doben behind him. The sails flapped in the strong wind that had picked up their ship. Not far in the distance behind him, Imrahil saw Agoron's convoy making a similar change.

"With this strong wind, our waypoint may be closer than I first estimated," Doben said, coming to Imrahil's side.

"How much closer?" Imrahil asked, scanning the horizon before him.

"Mid-morning at the earliest," Doben guessed, giving Imrahil a half-shrug. "With the winds changing, it is hard to give a solid estimation."

"Set a watch on deck," Imrahil said, descending the stairs. "Ring the bell every four hours for change of roster. The moment the Corsairs are detected, beat the drums." Imrahil walked up to Cebedir. "Hoist the flags and send a message to Agoron's convoy to be on alert."

The sun was setting and the breeze turned crisp. Imrahil stood on the bow of the ship with his cloak wrapped around him. It was becoming darker by the minute. All the lamps and lighting on deck had to be doused in order for them to remain stealthy in uncertain waters. The last thing the prince wanted was a night attack; they were most unpredictable. Imrahil scanned the sky; stars were appearing like diamonds on deep blue satin of a woman's gown. They twinkled, showing specks of different colours; red, purple, green. So beautiful, Imrahil thought. So untouched by evil. A place where all would seek out serenity.

By morning, the bell had rung once more for the change of watchmen. Imrahil had woken minutes after dawn and had watched the sunrise from the deck. Away in the distance, his sisters would still be sleeping in their warm beds. His father would be awake, going over the endless papers that passed through his office. _The business of the fiefdom never rests_ – that is what this father had told him before he had set sail. It still did not sound appealing to him, and part of him wished that he were a younger brother to an elder one. Why could not one of his sisters have been born a man? Why did all the responsibility have to fall into his unexperienced hands? They would become experienced one day; Imrahil knew that. But for now, all he wanted to do was sail and explore the seas. It was a leisure most of the men of his land took for granted and Imrahil envied them.

The drums began to beat. Imrahil stood at the wheel with Doben and Cebedir at his side. "Dead ahead," Doben said, pointing at the horizon in front of them.

"Have the deck supervisor prepare all the ballistas," Imrahil said, descending the stairs two at a time. "Cebedir, have the ship make its own way while all the men prepare for battle stations."

Imrahil came into his cabin and quickly began placing his armour on with the assistance of the cabin boy. The drums were still beating, and many booted men were heard passing the cabin on the deck. Imrahil left his cabin and unsheathed his sword. He ascended the stairs to the bridge and took his position at the railing overlooking the deck.

"How many?" Imrahil asked Cebedir.

"I count sixteen approaching, but there could be more past the horizon," he answered.

A message had been sent to Agoron's convoy, and both commanders had combined their fleet. Agoron's convoy covered the right and left wings, while Imrahil's was centred, with a line of ships covering their defences in case any enemy vessel snuck pass.

"Seaworthy men!" Imrahil shouted to the knights below. "Remember what we fight for! Remember who we are; we are swan knights worthy to defend what we hold most dear to our hearts! Will we allow these brigand pirates to take what is ours?"

"Nay!" they all shouted, raising their helmets or swords in the air.

"Will we let them pass without a fight?"

"Nay!"

"Take your positions, archers at the ready!" Imrahil sheathed his sword and walked over to the wheel.

"I am going to overbear these Corsairs," Imrahil declared, turning the wheel. "If we steal the wind from their sails, they will lack behind, become slow. We are on the windward position; they are sailing against the wind. The luck is on our side."

Agoron's western convoy broke off and began following a small contingent of corsairs attempting to make a run for it. "What is our plan of approach?" Cebedir asked.

"Club hauling," Imrahil said, not exactly thinking it through.

"My prince?"

Imrahil turned to his second cousin. "Set the sails to maximum speed, and when I give the order drop one of our anchors so we can turn abruptly and attack side on, but only do this after we have broken through their first line."

"Which ships do we pass?" Doben asked, buckling his sword around his waist.

"Those two." Imrahil pointed at the two closest ships only a few hundred metres ahead.

"Archers, prepare to fire!" Cebedir ordered. The archers had taken their positions on both sides of the deck, some stationed behind the ballistas to fire them.

Two hundred metres, one-fifty metres... they were drawing closer. Doben had his bow drawn as he stood on the bridge. "I bet I can hit their captain."

"Ten crowns you succeed," Imrahil said, drawing his own bow.

Doben grinned. "I'll give _you_ ten crowns if you beat me to it." They shook hands, chuckling.

Fifty metres, thirty metres, ten metres. "Hold," Cebedir shouted, raising his hand to give the order. "Fire!"

Dozens of arrows were shot from the ship, while an equal amount was shot from the Corsairs. An arrow from a ballista tore through the hull of the ship; water began to pour through the hole. Shouts and curses were heard as men were shot on both sides. Imrahil aimed his bow at the Corsair with the heaviest amount of beads, shells, and other ornaments draped over his shoulders. An arrow hit him in the stomach, causing him to topple over in pain. Imrahil lowered his bow, having not fired the shot. Doben was grinning broadly at his success. Imrahil smirked and raised his bow, firing the arrow into the captain's shoulder. "I am not going to allow you to cause him all the pain!"

The ship sailed past the first line. "Now, Cebedir!" Imrahil shouted, watching the anchor drop into the blue water. The ship made a sharp jolt, and all aboard fell over, or clung to something for support. Imrahil held onto the railing and the ship turn sharply and swiftly. The force was great, and the water below turned into white foam from the sudden movement. The ship creaked, leaning over to one side, threatening to capsize. Fortunately – to Imrahil's immense relief – the ship tilted upright once more, and the ballistas were rolled back into position.

"Prepare to fire on my command," Imrahil shouted, gaining his posture. He drew out his sword and moved to the deck below. "Have the ropes ready." He was intending on boarding the enemy ships surrounding them.

"Fire those ballistas at their hulls, I want as many vessels sunk as possible," Imrahil ordered to one of his knights. "Prepared to board!"

Imrahil swung onto the closest Corsair ship with ease, his men following suite. They were met with fierce oppression. The Corsairs slashed, grabbed, kicked, and punched; it was quite barbaric in Imrahil's opinion. They had no style to their fighting, no honour. As he fought, he caught glimpses of other enemy vessels being boarded, a few of his own having been boarded by the Corsairs themselves. It was a classic sea battle, but the victor would claim their glory in the long minutes that passed. Imrahil ran his sword through the last surviving Corsair onboard. He fell to the ground, gasping his final breath as blood drizzled out. Imrahil frowned at the sight; battles could never be written poetically in his opinion.

They had won, or at least won the battle. There were still other enemy convoys to be found in the Bay. Imrahil took off his helmet and wiped his sweaty, dirt sodden face. He wiped his sword clean before sheathing it once more.

"My lord," a knight called, coming on deck from the hull below, "we have found prisoners."

Imrahil nodded. "Break the locks and bring them up on deck. I am sure the other vessels will have their fair share of prisoners and stolen goods. Have a plank placed between the ships and transport the people over."

The young prince was amazed at how much goods the Corsairs were able to steal. What sort of men could take what was not theirs? Imrahil could not comprehend it. He sat at the table in his cabin and went over the list of goods they had retrieved. Chests of jewels, clothing; silk and damask, books – he did not know the Corsair's could read – fine cutlery, herbs and spices, even livestock and horses. All had been safely retrieved along with all the prisoners who were now classed as refugees. Some, Imrahil had gathered, were from western Gondor. A few of the elderly had asked if they knew what was happening in Belfalas, or Anfalas. Imrahil could not give them any answers.

What intrigued Imrahil the most was Doben. He was a young man, full of great opportunity. He was also a Lord of Gondor, and was expected to be infatuated with pretty woman in colourful gowns and fine jewels. Well, not this time. Doben sat on deck with his arm wrapped around a young woman whose clothes were tattered, and her face covered with smudges. Her hair needed a good brush too, Imrahil thought. As he approached them, Doben stood proudly.

"What is her name?" Imrahil asked taking a glimpse of her over Doben's back.

"Miss Alagwen," he replied.

"Miss?" Imrahil repeated. "She is not of nobility."

Doben shook his head. "She does not have to be, does she?"

Imrahil placed his hands before him in a friendly gesture. "Please, my friend, I have no quarrel with you on the matter. I like you, Doben, but if your intentions are to dally with her, I would strongly advise not to; she has been through enough already."

"I do not want to _dally_ with her," Doben answered. "All I am doing is comforting her while she waits to be treated in the sickbay."

"How badly hurt is she?"

"Nothing too physical," Doben replied. "Mostly scratches, but I think the main problem is trauma."

Imrahil nodded. "Very well. Agoron's convoy is heading further west to make sure there are no more remaining Corsairs. We will make for port so these people can see land again. Then we will set sail once more."

Imrahil turned to the deck supervisor. "Weigh the anchor! We make for Dol Amroth."

* * *

><p><strong>Character reference:<strong>

Prince Adrahil – Imrahil's father, current ruling Prince of Dol Amroth

Lord Agoron – Imrahil's mentor, best friend. Also Finduilas' first love interest and ideal candidate for marriage.

Lord Toven – Younger brother to Lord Tarondor: Lord of Linhir

Lord Glamrion – Lord of the town Uilben

Lord Doben – Lord Glamrion's son and heir

Lord Aduialon – Lord Glamrion's younger brother

Sir Cebedir – Imrahil's second cousin on his mother's side

Miss Alagwen – A common woman found among the prisoner's onboard a Corsair ship.

Belan – Imrahil's horse


	3. Wrapping up the Campaign

**May: Spring 2977 **

It was a relieving joy to see the port of Dol Amroth. Imrahil stood on the bridge, his hands on the wheel. Seeing the land that he had so determinedly defended made his heart swell with pride. He and Agoron had taken several pirates of Umbar prisoners. Imrahil's father had always had a taste for interrogation. It was one of his many political skills; getting the information he needed... or better yet, wanted in a kindly fashion.

They had taken a detour on the way back to Dol Amroth. Imrahil and Agoron's convoys ended up combing with Lord Toven's just north of the Mouth of the Anduin River. Eight Corsair ships had intentions on sailing up the river to Pelargir, and if their luck was on their side, to Osgiliath. With three fleets combined, they sailed southeast, around the island of Tolfalas and reached the enemy flotilla one mile out from the Mouth. It had been an easy battle; majority of the flotilla fled southwest, away from land and from the island before turning south, heading back to Umbar. The remaining enemy ships were boarded, seized, and prisoners were taken. Success had been on Gondor's side. The event was been stamped into Imrahil's memory as his first successful campaign against the Corsairs. They had causalities; it was to be expected, but they had proven their strength, and Imrahil had hoped they had seen the last of the Corsairs for a while. He loved sailing, but he preferred to do it in peace.

Imrahil gently turned the wheel, following the sea into the harbour. He had sailed many vessels in his juvenile state, but this was the first time he had taken command of an actual warship. It was a weatherly ship, easy to sail. Sadly, however, it was Agoron's. The _Calphcair_ was the princedom's most formidable ship they had. It had been made by Dol Amroth's most skilled naval architect through two generations, Camaen. Therefore, it was suited that the fiefdom's Admiral would be commander of such a beautiful and seaworthy ship.

The hawser was thrown down to the mariners on the docking platform. They assisted Imrahil by pulling the rope into a more favourable docking position. Imrahil gently turned the wheel; docking such a large warship had its disadvantages. The last thing he needed was to scrape the hull of the ship against the docking platform, causing a breech. Imrahil manoeuvred the Calphcair into a fitting anchorage position at the dock. The anchor dropped heavily into the deep blue water, causing a great splash.

"Hale up the brails!" the boatswain commanded, moving about the deck, getting glimpses of the job being done.

Cebedir was standing behind Imrahil to the left; he had his hands clasped behind his back, watching the deckhands scraping the deck clean. "Sir Cebedir," Imrahil said, turning to him, "I relieve you from your duty as First Mate." Imrahil saluted; Cebedir followed suit.

"It has been an honour, my lord prince," Cebedir replied sincerely.

"The honour is mine, cousin," Imrahil said, smiling. "I hope to sail with you once more. Enjoy your homecoming in Tarnost."

Cebedir saluted his prince once more. "Permission to leave this ship, my lord?"

"Granted," Imrahil replied.

Cebedir descended the stairs and shook hands with Doben before standing at the gangplank and saluting the flag of Dol Amroth.

Doben ascended the stairs to the bridge, grinning. "It is good to be home, my lord."

"It is," Imrahil said, looking up at the swan palace gleaming in the sunlight. "My father will want a full briefing on the events."

"We have already written up a report, my lord."

"Go down to the sickbay and retrieve the binnacle list from the head surgeon," Imrahil commanded. "I want to know how many men are out of commission due to illness or injury. If we are to sail out again, I want a number of how many men are seaworthy."

"Yes, my lord."

"Doben!" Imrahil called from the bridge as the man descended the stairs. "Have the paymaster draw up an account of all the expenses; have him deliver it to my father."

"Yes, my lord."

The flag indicating the absence of the commanding officer was hoisted into the air as Imrahil walked down the gangplank onto the wharf. The young prince had sea legs. He had experienced it many times before when he had been out at sea for many weeks. He stood on the wharf for several minutes, getting his land bearings back. The refugees were led down the gangplank onto the wharf with the assistance of the knights. Many of the prisoners has been women; women who would have been sold in slave markets in Umbar and Harad, and used for unimaginable purposes. The prince saw Miss Alagwen descend the gangplank wearing a finely woven, dark blue cloak around her shoulders. Her hair was clean and neatly brushed, pulled back into a tight braid. It was all Doben's doing. Imrahil smiled, admiring all the care and attention his new friend was giving to the woman. She needed a friend onboard, and it had been frightening for the refugees to be stationed in the hull while a battle commenced above.

"Miss Alagwen," Imrahil said, gently grabbing her arm to prevent her from walking past.

The young woman seemed startled by the sudden attention; her eyes were wide. "My prince," she said nervously, curtsying low.

"Stay with me for a while," he invited, moving her away from the crowd of people. "I am sure Lord Doben would like to see you before you leave."

Alagwen looked up at the ship with a frown on her face. "He is a nice man."

Imrahil nodded. "Where were you born?"

Alagwen smiled broadly. "Here in Dol Amroth. My family live on the main street by the entrance gates; we own a small patch of land a mile out that we use for farming."

"Your family owns a business," Imrahil said, surprised. "How did you end up onboard a Corsair vessel?"

Alagwen's eyes lowered. "My older sister and I went to visit our cousins in Annúmben. We decided to go shell searching along the small shoreline just below the coastal cliff. There, brigands attacked us; my sister and cousin managed to escape up the narrow path that leads up the cliff. I was not so fortunate. They were not pirates, but they traded me to them some days later. I thought I was never going to see home again."

Doben had descended the gangplank and walked over to them. "I will take you personally to your family in the city."

Alagwen smiled warmly up at him; he was at least a head taller. "There is no need; I can make my own way."

Doben shook his head. "I will not have it."

"Then you two best be on your way," Imrahil said.

Alagwen smiled again. "Thank you, Prince Imrahil for everything. All the refugees are beyond grateful for your help _and _rescuing us."

"I am thankful I managed to intercept that fleet before they left for Umbar," the prince replied.

Doben placed his hand on Alagwen's waist. "I look forward to seeing you again, my prince."

Imrahil grinned. "Do not leave for Uilben too soon! We must celebrate our victories!"

Doben laughed. "Send word when it happens."

Imrahil shook the man's hand. "Look after her." He indicated towards Alagwen.

"You do not need to tell me that a second time in order for that to happen," Doben replied, winking.

Imrahil made his way up to the swan palace with a small escort trailing behind him. He could have gone by horse, but he was still trying to get used to the feeling of being back on land. In any case, it was nice to be among his people; he had always found it interesting watching common people go about their daily lives. Many of the children were in awe whenever he walked passed; they would run up to him, waving their little hands up in the air, or they would wave from afar and then giggle, hiding behind their mothers. He also could not help but notice certain attractive attributes in some of the women. He had a liking to wavy hair that fell down their backs. Several of the women he walked passed smiled shyly, tucking their hair behind their ears. Many of the people were of Numenorean decent and had black, straight hair, so silky and soft that it shimmered in the light. Ivriniel had hair like that, and it suited her. But for him, a woman of his taste needed more character; something different that set them apart from the crowd. His latest... or rather ex mistress had fiery red hair that Imrahil adored running his fingers through. Perhaps he should travel north to find a wife.

The guards at the palace gates saluted him. Imrahil felt relaxed being home once more. He was eager to see Ivriniel again, hoping her health was good and her mind was not getting the better of her. He also hoped to see his mother if her health allowed her to receive visitors. But the first person he had to see was his father.

Angoldir, his father's chief clerk opened the study door. Imrahil saw his father standing by the window, letting the ocean breeze circulate through the room. Imrahil bowed. "Father."

Adrahil turned around and smiled. "You have served me well, my boy."

Imrahil returned the smile; he may be a man now, but he always loved being praised by his father. "I am glad you found my campaign a success."

Adrahil walked over to his cabinet and poured two glasses of brandy. "I am hoping you have scared those thug pirates away for good."

Imrahil accepted the glass. "Perhaps not for good, but for a while at the most."

"They are a determined bunch." Adrahil walked over to his desk and sat in his chair. "I have the reports and accounts of the expedition." He scanned through several papers. "You did well without the entire fleet. Your uncle and Lord Glamrion managed to protect Cobas Haven successfully; it appears the Corsairs do not enjoy venturing too far north."

"Then Anfalas should feel blessed they do not feel the wrath of the Corsairs," Imrahil replied, taking a seat in front of his father's desk.

"It says here you found thirty-seven refugees and countless amounts of goods and livestock."

"Yes, Father," Imrahil answered. "The livestock and all food provisions are being unloaded and given to the people, since they are still struggling after the severe storm."

"What about these jewels and the money?" Adrahil asked. "Where are they?"

"They have been secured in coffers and have been sent over to the palace's treasurer to be weighed and valued," Imrahil answered.

Adrahil smiled. "You have done very well."

"However," Imrahil continued, "I believe some of those jewels and money could have been the possessions of some of the refugees. May I recommend that all thirty-seven refugees make a list of all the goods that were taken from them?"

Adrahil contemplated for a moment. He nodded. "I will have Angoldir follow up on the matter. Now tell me, you wrote in your report that Lord Agoron and Lord Toven had remained behind around Tolfalas."

"It is a precautionary method," Imrahil responded. "Agoron, Toven, and I agreed that it would be wise to leave two convoys surrounding Tolfalas in case any brave Corsair commanders decide to take another leap at raiding our shores. If I were in their position, I would immediately assume that all forces would have retreated back to Dol Amroth leaving the waters open."

"Then you would have been wrong," Adrahil said, sipping his brandy. "A wise decision. How long will they be anchored there?"

"Two weeks at the most, Father."

Adrahil nodded. "And you have scored yourself some prisoners." He held up a list of all the Corsair prisoners who were willing to give their names.

"They have been imprisoned in the palace's dungeon. No harm has come to them, as your laws state," Imrahil said sternly. The first law Adrahil had passed when he came into seat was the change of methods when it came to caring for prisoners. Methods of torture had been banned, execution penalties had been dropped to only a few, and better cells had been built in the dungeon. Imrahil's father had always been a softer man than most, thinking that if you treated someone the way you would want to be treated you would earn more respect. Imrahil had mixed thoughts about the matter.

"Good," Adrahil said, standing up. "You, like so many other noblemen may think me weak for enforcing these laws, but we are the goodness in this world. Are we any better than the Corsairs if we torture them? Do we not have a duty to show, even the worst of our enemies respect when we have them in custody? I will question the prisoners myself, and the ones I deem worth it, I will set free."

"Father!" Imrahil exclaimed, standing up also. "With all respect, I disagree! They are Corsairs! They are no better than the orcs of Mordor. We cannot set any of them free! I understand if you have no desire to execute them as my grandfather did, but at least have them imprisoned for life. Perhaps as time goes by, some of them may prove useful in giving us valuable information."

Adrahil was silent, thinking his son's words over. "You deliver an excellent debate, my son. But my decision stays the same. If I deem them worthy, they will be released eventually."

Imrahil sighed deeply, praying that his father would not do such a foolish act. He thought it best to change the subject. "How is Ivriniel?"

"She is well," Adrahil answered. "I have thoughts to have her remarried within the year."

It was just one bad news after the other! "Father, I beg you to not go ahead, for Ivriniel's sake."

"She is a princess," his father replied assertively. "It is unheard of for a prince or princess to be unmarried. She must have a husband."

"She did have a husband," Imrahil said. "He died in service to my grandfather. She still mourns him."

"If she remarries, then her mourning period will hopefully be over. She may even grow happy again."

"Father, you of all people know Ivriniel does not work in that way," Imrahil said, hoping he was getting some sense into his father's head. "She is not some lady of the court that you can pass on to another; she will retaliate, and you will regret it. You may even lose a daughter in the process."

Adrahil placed a hand on his brow. "Thank you for your council, Imrahil. You may leave." Imrahil shut his eyes tightly; he bowed and Angoldir opened the door for him.

Why did his father have to be so stubborn! It vexed Imrahil deeply. He made his way to his mother's apartments, hoping she would have some sense in the matter. Surely their mother would not force Ivriniel into another marriage.

"Of course I do not desire such a thing," his mother said in her antechamber. They were sitting at the table enjoying afternoon tea.

"Does Ivriniel know of Father's plans?" Imrahil asked not particularly keen on touching his plate of food.

"No," Lady Anneth replied, sipping her tea. "And if you speak a word of it to her!"

Imrahil nodded quickly. His mother had used her warning tone of voice; a voice Imrahil was very used to hearing when he was a small boy. "I would never speak such words to my sister, Mother. I know how she would react, and I have no desire to upset her any further than she already is."

Lady Anneth nodded. I am glad you have commonsense, Imrahil. I wish your father had some," she added curtly.

Imrahil frowned. "Have you and Father been quarrelling?"

"About our daughter's future? Of course!" she exclaimed. "I will not have Ivriniel forced into anything she does not want to do. If I did, I would have had her married off years ago when she had just come of age. You are lucky I feel this way, for your father has been thinking of an arranged marriage for you."

Imrahil's eyes snapped up. "What? No! Mother, no!"

"I know you would say that," she replied calmly. "Have no fear; I talked him out of it. I only wished I could have talked him out of marrying my dear Finduilas to the next Steward of Gondor."

"That match could not have been broken," Imrahil said. "Nobody can deny the Steward of Gondor."

His mother sighed sadly. "I miss her."

"As do I."

Lady Anneth smiled. "You will be seeing her soon."

He had forgotten! "Of course, Father wishes me to visit her in Minas Tirith next month," he said, feeling happiness twinge within him.

"If only my health allowed me to travel; I would have gone with you."

"I agree that letters do not do suffice," Imrahil said. "It will be nice to see her again. She writes that she is not lonely, but I have a slight certainty that she is."

"Lord Denethor is a good husband," his mother said.

"I never said he was not; I believe she misses her real family."

"She will have her own family soon enough of the Valar are generous," she said, piling fresh fruit onto her son's plate. "Now eat, you are too thin."

Imrahil obeyed, taking an apple and biting into it. He sat back in his chair, enjoying the warm afternoon of the spring season. Next month was only two weeks away, but his youthful body being full of energy and his mind racing for exciting had him not wanting to stay home any longer than that. He was joyous he would be embarking on yet another adventure, even if it were only to Minas Tirith; it was a long journey depending on how you travelled. How would he travel? By horse, he decided. It would take longer and he would see more of the homeland he loved. Yes, he would travel by horse. His mind was set.

* * *

><p><strong>List of Characters:<strong>

Prince Adrahil – Imrahil's father, current ruling Prince of Dol Amroth

Lord Agoron – Imrahil's mentor, best friend. Also Finduilas' first love interest and ideal candidate for marriage.

Lord Toven – Younger brother to Lord Tarondor: Lord of Linhir

Lord Glamrion – Lord of the town Uilben

Lord Doben – Lord Glamrion's son and heir

Sir Cebedir – Imrahil's second cousin on his mother's side

Miss Alagwen – A common woman found among the prisoner's onboard a Corsair ship.

Angoldir - Adrahil's chief clerk

Princess Ivriniel – Imrahil's older sister/Adrahil's eldest child

Lady Anneth – Princess of Dol Amroth, Adrahil's wife/Imrahil's mother

Camaen - Naval architect

**Calphcair** – Dol Amroth's finest warship: Calph: Sindarin for Water-Vessel/Cair: Sindarin for Ship

**Annúmben** is a city along the coast of Belfalas: it is of my creation

I should probably point out that I know absolutely _nothing_ on nautical terms or sailing. So if something just does not sound right, please excuse it. I have done extended research, but that does not class me as an expert on the topic.

Saluting the flag and the commanding officer before leaving a naval ship is something they do in modern Navy culture. I do not know if they did it hundreds/thousands of years ago, but I thought it added quite the nice touch to the whole event, and it shows great respect.

Describing the Numenoreans as having straight hair is of my creation. I honestly do not know what type of hair they had (except that it was black/dark). But whenever I picture a Numenorean, I see straight, black hair.


	4. The Beauty of Belfalas

**June: Summer 2977**

It took less than a week after returning from sea for Imrahil to be packed and ready to disembark on the long journey to Minas Tirith. His father was openly against his son's decision to travel by horse; he gave in when he saw that Imrahil had inherited his strong will. Imrahil drew up his preparation on a map, outlining his planned path of travel. He would take the coastal road to Annúmben, then travel northwards to Linhir, then to Pelargir where he would follow the Anduin River eastward through Lossarnach, finally reaching Minas Tirith. Imrahil estimated it would take ten days to reach the City of Kings.

Packed, saddled, and ready, Imrahil kissed his mother farewell in the great chamber, while embracing Ivriniel tightly. "Give this to Finduilas," Ivriniel said, handing her brother a pocket-sized package. "Give it to her with my love."

Imrahil nodded. "Farewell, Sister."

Imrahil nodded at his father and clasped hands with him. "Represent our fiefdom well in the court."

"Yes, Father." It was all the young prince could say. Sure, he had been away from his family on sea-voyages, but this was the first time he would make progress through Gondor via land without the company of his parents or sisters. Was he afraid? Imrahil was not entirely sure. One could never be confident in venturing out into something they had never experienced before. And it was not as if he was travelling alone. Along with his band of guards, Lord Toven was to accompany him to Linhir, his home. Imrahil enjoyed Toven's company. Sure, he was several years older than he was, and already an accomplished man; knighted, happily married for seven years, two children, and a wife with good family connections. What more could a man want in his life? Imrahil was already knighted, and even though the thought of a lifelong companionship in matrimony did appeal to him, he was not ready to commit himself to it. If his father had his way, Imrahil would eventually be arranged into wedlock with a high profile woman from within the court. It was a necessity for Imrahil to marry, but he did not _want_ it to be a necessity. He wanted to choose for himself, just as Ivriniel had done.

"Arranged marriages are not always bad," Toven said as they rode south along the coast. "My marriage was arranged."

Imrahil laughed. "But you are one of the few men in this world who finds positive outcomes in everything."

Toven gave a self-depicted shrug. "Sure, my wife may not be the most beautiful of women, but I love her for whom and what she is. It took time for that love to grow, but it's here now."

"I am not even ready to be married!" Imrahil complained loudly. "Besides, my father has no right arranging my marriage. He chose my mother out of love, not through politics or because she brought with her a grand dowry."

Toven merely shrugged. "Matters of the princedom family elude me."

"How I wish it eluded me," Imrahil replied more to himself. "Poor Finduilas."

"Poor Agoron," Toven added. "I believe he was just as heartbroken during that time."

"It was not fair," Imrahil said childishly. "The steward and his son arrived in Dol Amroth for Ivriniel's wedding, and then left expecting Finduilas to be swept away to Minas Tirith to be Denethor's wife. How could they even think that we would easily give Finduilas away like that?"

"But your family did," Toven retorted. "At least your father and grandfather did. It was a good match; everyone agreed on that."

Imrahil merely shrugged. "I suppose I am biased towards the whole situation. After all, Agoron and I will always be good friends. I could not muster any sort of conversation with Lord Denethor during their wedding. What type of lord gives only one-worded answers during his own wedding? That is to say, that Lord Denethor seemed besotted with Finduilas. He should have been feeling thrilled, talking nonstop."

"Perhaps you intimidated him," joked Toven, grinning.

Imrahil laughed aloud. "You cease to amuse me, Friend."

They enjoyed the peace of the coastal road. Imrahil found it to be a beautiful part of his lands. Whoever built the road must have had a great love of the sea, as the road ran right along the coastal cliff with only a waist-high stonewall protecting them from the great fall one would experience if they toppled over. It was breathtaking; closing your eyes one could feel the cool summer breeze wash over you, messing your hair; your skin became salty from the ocean gusts that carried up over the cliff. The clouds above them roamed freely, clashing with each other forming shadows on the freshly grazed grass in the meadows on the other side of the road. The waves of the ocean below clashed with the fallen rocks of the cliff; white foam erupted everywhere, covering the earthen rocks with its spuds.

"It seems this area of Belfalas will always remain untouched by evil," remarked Imrahil.

"Indeed," Toven replied, watching the peasants working in the fields. The grass was always greener along the coastal road. The cliffs were located so high up that, it made it impossible for any pirates to raid the villages nearby. The farmlands were in constant abundance; the mills full of grain. This was a great aspect, for the villagers walking by their prince were kind, friendly and showed no sign of hate, jealousy, or envy. Many of the townspeople of Dol Amroth pulled such features. It was to be expected, Imrahil thought. Living in a great city where many noblemen would ride through, dressed in rich leather, jewels, and armour. Who could blame the poor man standing on the sideline, offering his hands up to these lords, begging for just a small coin to feed his family? As much as Imrahil loved Dol Amroth, he hated seeing the poverty side to his city. It was nothing out of the ordinary, for all great cities – Minas Tirith included – had the poverty side to it. The balance had to be kept in order.

The town of Annúmben was located several long hours of constant horseback away from Dol Amroth. Imrahil found the town to be at a good distance from his city. By the time he reached Annúmben, his horse, Belan was starting to lag, and Imrahil himself was in desperate need of rest. The young prince had only been to Annúmben twice before, and every time he found good cheer there. The taverns were stocked plentiful of ale and salted meats, and if he was in the mood, the ladies were also excellent company. By the time he arrived in the courtyard of his father's house, it had already been aired, the stables replenished with food and hay, and most importantly, the kitchens were roaring away, preparing many delicious meals for the night ahead.

"Captain Aithron," Imrahil said, walking over to the older man. "See that our men are housed appropriately, and then you can be relieved of your duties for the remainder of the night."

"Yes, my lord."

Imrahil admired the captain of his guard. He was a good man, loyal and never raised a voice in question. Faithful to the end, that is how Imrahil liked his knights. The young prince walked into the great house and up the flight of stairs. He was to have his usual room that was located at the end of the house, overlooking the back courtyard. He collapsed into the chair by the lifeless fireplace, leaning his head back. He was exhausted! His pageboy entered, bringing a jug of fresh water and fruit. He gave the boy his usual tip of one silver coin for each job well done. Drinking deeply, Imrahil wondered what was on the agenda for the night. He was to leave by midmorning the next day, but the prince wanted to have some fun. After all, he had just recently won a sea battle and now he was taking a rather informal summer progress to Minas Tirith. He was not going to stay indoors for the entire time. The thought then struck him. He was going to go for a swim.

Imrahil soon discovered that Toven had passed out in the solar, too exhausted to make it to his own chamber. Imrahil grinned at the sight, then leaving the house, taking a fresh horse with him down to the small patch of beach at the bottom of the cliff. It was a steep narrow path to take that led to the shoreline. Imrahil had to dismount his horse and guide it down the pathway, holding onto the wooden railing. There were not many people swimming in the ocean, save for the few women who stood at the edge of the sand supervising their children playing in the shallows. Imrahil tied his horse to the path's railing and removed his shirt. Some of the mother's looked away, blushing at the sight of a young, fit man.

The water was cool, relieving him from the hotness of summer. He dove into a wave, resurfacing on the other side. He brushed the strands of hair out of his face, relaxing in the water. The clouds had dissipated as the afternoon drew on, the sun starting to set over the horizon. Out in the distance, the water shone a deep orange from the large round sun that hovered above. There were only a few things in existence that were more beautiful than a sun setting over a large bask of water. Imrahil dipped his head in the water again and slowly swam back to the shore. Swimming was so refreshing for him, that even in the coldest of days he would venture out in to the ocean. It was the one place where he could clearly think, a place where beauty existed far more in his observations. Reaching the shore, he noticed that the mothers had packed up and left with their children; he saw them making slow progress up the path as the children scream and chatted excitedly. He lowered his eyes and noticed something to his left. He frowned, seeing a cave. Realisation hit him hard in the face – it was the cave, which he had seen in his dream. Frowning, Imrahil made his way over to it, peering inside. The setting sun made it hard for him to get a clear view on the inside, but noticed soft sand at its entrance with tiny green plants growing out of the foot of the rocks. He tried to remember what had happened in the dream. It was here, at the front of this cave where he had encountered the woman... but she had spoken 'Pelargir' to him. This was not Pelargir; it was Annúmben. Pelargir was still at least a good three days ride away. Shaking his head, Imrahil began to think noting more of his dream. Obviously, it was a creation of his mind, for he was sure to have seen this cave before during one of his previous visits to Annúmben. Only he had forgotten all about.

Making his way up the path, he placed his tunic on, deciding to walk the rest of the way home. It was a pleasant evening; the summer breeze had become warmer, and the town's atmosphere was buzzing with people making their way to the town hall for a play. The large building was alight with many candles, with many citizens chatting joyously outside, waiting for admittance. Imrahil had never been a man for plays or jesting. While he did enjoy a good humorous story, plays had a tendency to bore him. It was a trait he knew he had received from his father, for his mother had loved holding plays in the great hall of their home. At least the people of Annúmben were enjoying themselves. Nobody could ask for me.

"You are a poor source of company," Imrahil said to Toven, entering the dining hall of his father's house.

"It was not my intention to fall asleep," Toven replied, enjoying his spiced wine. "In any case, once I return home I fear my sleeping pattern will be ruined once more. My son, Duirrodor is to celebrate his first birthday this winter, and my wife insists on having the nursery connected to our chamber only by an arched doorframe."

"That sounds inconvenient," Imrahil remarked, pouring some wine.

"When you finally come to fatherhood, use your authority as heir to the princedom to refrain your future wife from making such a decision. It will be the death of you."

"I'll take that under advisement."

"So where did you venture off to?" Toven asked curiously. "Find a pretty lady to dally with?"

"Unfortunately, no," Imrahil replied humorously. "I went for a swim down along the beachfront. The only ladies there were mothers with their children."

Toven laughed. "Thank the Valar the children were there then. The last thing we want tomorrow is to be chased out of town by a gang of angry husbands."

Imrahil rolled his eyes. "I never sleep with married women. I do not like the idea of tarnishing that sort of reputation."

"Then I am comforted to know that my wife is safe when you visit our house."

"It is a shame you have no sisters," Imrahil joked. "I may have been contented to wed one of them."

Toven's eyes narrowed. "I am not sure if I should feel relieved or disappointed at having no sister."

Imrahil laughed aloud, then quieting, thinking of the very idea of matrimony. "Oh marriage, why do you haunt me?"

Toven shrugged. "Try not to think about it. Then perhaps your mind can be at more ease."

"You are a man of wise words."

That night, Imrahil tossed and turned in his bed. His dreams were haunted by that cave. This time round, he saw the sand glow bright white, the small plants blossoming into white roses. He noticed something half buried in the sand. He kneeled, brushing the sand aside revealing a silver chain with a large, rectangle-cut emerald pendant. His attempt to pick it up failed as it vanished from site. He dug around in the sand trying to find it; he had to find it for a reason he did not know of. A gust of wind swept through the cave from the ocean, causing the sand to blow about the cave. Imrahil shielded his eyes from the coarse sand, trying to find some sort of shelter away from the cave. He ended up walking into the side of the cave, falling back to the ground. The sand had settled; he stood up and saw the wind had created something in the sand. It was the letter 'R'.

"Argh... argh," Imrahil said in his sleep. He was shaken awake by his pageboy. "What are doing in here?"

"The sun has risen, my lord," the boy replied, bowing his head. "You wanted to be awoken by the seventh hour."

Imrahil narrowed his eyes as the bright sunlight beamed in through the windows. "Perfect. You may fetch my breakfast to me; I will eat in here."

The prince lay back on the soft pillows. He felt he had only been asleep for a few minutes; he hated it when that happened. During breakfast, he thought of the cave, the necklace, and the letter that had been drawn into the sand. Was this a riddle? A game? Imrahil just shook his head, thinking himself a fool for wondering such things. How could his mind be creating a game just for him? He doubted the anatomy of man could do such a thing. In any case, he decided he would visit the cave one last time before heading off towards Linhir.

"Have the men packed, saddled, and ready to disembark by the time I return," Imrahil said to Aithron.

"Where are you going, my lord?" Aithron asked curiously.

"I have one little matter to deal with before leaving this town. I shall not be too long." Imrahil mounted Belan and rode quickly through the streets, dismounting once more to take the narrow path down the Cliffside. Once at the bottom he did not bother tying Belan, he just ran over to the cave. He collapsed to his knees at the entrance, digging through the sand, trying to find the necklace... or anything in that matter. As nothing appeared, he rested his hands on his knees and looked further into the cave. There was no long narrow walkway... or a deep black spot of nothingness. The cave ended only several metres in. Nothing was special about the tiny cave – no necklace, not letters drawn into the sand, and the little green plants still looked like weeds.

"Am I losing my mind?" he muttered under his breath. "Why I am becoming so obsessed over a mere dream?" Groaning in annoyance with his curiosity, Imrahil scuffed his way back to Belan, heading back up the path. He was going to bang his head against a wall if he ever dreamt of that cave again. Valar be dammed! He did not have time for this nonsense!

Imrahil reached his father's house in no time. His men were prepared, as he had ordered. "Move out," he shouted, turning his horse back towards the gates. Toven and Aithron rode up beside him.

"We will have to make camp for one night before reaching Linhir," Aithron said. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"There is a tiny village about eight hours from here. We can make camp there. The people are friendly enough, but mostly keep to themselves," Toven answered. "In the past, the villagers allowed my men to camp in the fields just outside of the village."

Imrahil nodded with approval. "Then I trust you to lead us to this village. Does it have a name?"

Toven shook his head. "Not to my knowledge. I do not know if it should even be called a village; it is so small. Perhaps five families."

Imrahil shrugged his shoulders. "If that is their way of living, I have no objections."

The village was located further inland, down a dirt-built road with rickety fence lines. Grass fields had large oak trees scattered around with cows lazing about in the cool shade. In the distance, a forest was seen with deer roaming around. The area was an ideal place for hunting.

"Do not overexcite yourself, my prince," Toven said, watching the deer. "The people here do not enjoy hunters coming to their fields."

"As much as the thought excites me, I do not wish to offend them." Imrahil sighed; his mood had been uplifted at the prospect of a good hunt. "I do not see any buildings. Are we close?"

Toven nodded. "Their houses are built in a curve of flat land in the forest."

Imrahil frowned. "An odd location to build a village."

"As I have said; these people prefer to keep to themselves."

"They are Gondorian?"

Toven nodded. "Indeed they are. They follow the fiefdom's laws and dress in Gondorian fashion. There is nothing suspicious about them."

Toven, Imrahil, and Aithron broke off from their group as they reached the outskirts of the forest. They saw several men lumbering nearby; they stopped their labour and looked blankly at the newcomers. The houses and mills were made of grey stone, and a large well had been eradicated near the centre of the village. The first thing Imrahil noticed about the area was that there were no stables to house their horses. The prince dismounted, his men following suit. He approached the nearest man, smiling. "My men and I seek shelter for the night."

The man nodded. "We have no houses available for such hospitality. However, if you have the equipment, you can erect tents out in the field."

Imrahil nodded. "We have tents with us, thank you." He looked about. "May I speak to your chief?"

"We do not have a chief," the man replied. "We live as a single unison of people."

The young prince was rather surprised at that. "Then who makes the decisions around here?"

"We all do," he replied without insult. "When the situation calls for it, all the community comes together; everyone is free to express their opinions and solutions."

"An interesting way of governing your village."

"Do your men require anything of us?"

Imrahil looked at Toven and his captain. "Do you have hay and water for our horses?"

The man pointed at a small stone building adjoined to what appeared to be a house. "There is hay and other foods in there. You can water your horses down by the lake. It is not too far a walk down that path." He pointed towards a stone path that led into the forest. "During your stay we require one rule; please do not hunt our animals. We prefer to live among the flora and fauna in peace."

"You do not hunt yourselves?" asked Aithron.

The man shook his head. "No; the only animals we keep are chickens, goats, and cows; we only use them for milk and eggs. We do not eat meat."

What an odd community, Imrahil thought, quite perplexed. "If those are your ways, we shall not hinder them. We thank you for your generosity."

Heading back to his men, Imrahil could not help but feel intimidated by the villagers' stares. None of them was rude or stared inappropriately. In fact, they were all friendly enough. But their way of living; not eating meat, living as one – it made Imrahil feel as if he and his friends were doing the wrong thing.

The men put up their tents without complaint, and made sure their horses were watered at the lake. By nightfall, Imrahil lay comfortably in his cot, sighing heavily. It was a full moon and the nocturnal insects roamed around the grass, buzzing and cricking away. They had situated their camp just off the road, so when the villagers decided to walk past, their footsteps were heard. Imrahil sat up, frowning with curiosity. He got out of bed and buckled his sword around his waist, heading out of the tent. The rest of his men were sleeping, but the villagers could be seen further up the road. He followed them. These people were so strange to him; he wanted to know what they were doing.

They walked out into the field, over to a large tree stump. The children were placed around it, kneeling, looking up at the sky. The adults knelt behind their young ones, their hands clasped, their heads facing upwards.

"We are doing nothing illegal." Imrahil spun around and noticed an elderly man with a grey beard. "It is merely a way of worshipping this earth."

"What are they doing?" Imrahil asked, turning back to the group of people.

"Praying to the moon," he replied. "Every full moon we come out here and pray for good harvest and weather. We believe that the entire visibility of the moon is like a portal to another world - a world of the Valar. That is why we pray now."

"But the moon is no portal," Imrahil said realistically.

The elderly man smiled. "That may be so, but there are many things in this world that are unexplainable. The moon included. Who knows what its true purpose is. Only rarely does it shine so brightly, lighting up the entire night. We also believe that the moon is our protector from the darkness of night. It shines its light down upon us, protecting us from the evil that lurks in dark places. We believe that when the moon is not completely showing, that a great battle is taking place up there between darkness and light. The nothingness tries to take away all light, preventing us from seeing, from believing that morning will come. But the light of the moon always comes out victorious. It is a great example showing that no matter how long you fight, no matter how much of the moon is covered by evil, goodness in this life will always come out on top."

Imrahil gazed up at the moon. "I never thought of it like that. Who taught you that story?"

"We do not know," he replied. "Our community formed many decades ago. Our reason for coming out here was to live in unison with nature, away from the industry of man. We are not bad people; we just prefer a more simple, natural way of living. We are happy here."

"Do you trade with other villages?" Imrahil asked.

"We have no need to. Nature provides us with everything we need."

"Thank you for that tale, it was quite an eye-opener," Imrahil replied. "My men and I will be leaving at dawn."

"I wish you a safe journey."

Heading back to his camp, Imrahil gazed at the moon, wondering if it was true that a battle was taking place among the stars. All his life the stars had guided him home from sea, from hunting trips. They were always so bright and peaceful. Evil seemed never to touch the night sky. Lying back down in his cot, he could see the moon's light creeping in under the tents flaps. He watched it dance back and forth, as the flaps moved about in the wind. From now on, he would never look at the moon the same again.

* * *

><p><strong>Prince Adrahil<strong> – Imrahil's father, current ruling Prince of Dol Amroth

**Lord Agoron** – Imrahil's mentor, best friend. Also Finduilas' first love interest and ideal candidate for marriage.

**Lord Toven** – Younger brother to Lord Tarondor: Lord of Linhir

**Princess Ivriniel** – Imrahil's older sister/Adrahil's eldest child

**Captain Aithron** - Captain of Imrahil's guard - married to Imrahil's first cousin on his father's side.

**Annúmben** is a city along the coast of Belfalas: it is of my creation


	5. Siblings Reunited and Emerald Pendants

The first thought that ran through Imrahil's mind as he caught the first glimpse of Minas Tirith was how Finduilas was fairing. Sweet, dear Finduilas, he thought, riding into the first level courtyard. People alike came flocking around them with curiosity. Imrahil bowed his head, waved, and smiled at the people. He received a wave of cheering.

"They love you," Aithron commented, riding up beside his cousin. "And so they should."

"They love me as the brother of their ladyship, Finduilas," Imrahil replied, still waving.

"Well, in that case, your sister must have proven herself quite a loving woman to these people."

Imrahil smiled; glad to know that the people of Minas Tirith appreciated that the heir to the stewardship had chosen a woman they approved of. Imrahil and his party did not delay and put their steeds into a canter and continued onwards, up towards the seventh level.

It was forbidden to ride up into the courtyard of Minas Tirith; Imrahil dismounted at the gates leading into the stables on the sixth level, handing the reins over to a scruffy-haired stable boy who failed to bow before the prince. Imrahil merely shrugged it away; he never expected _everyone_ to bow before him, especially not some poor, inexperienced stable hand. He silently wondered if his brother-in-law, Denethor felt the same way. The young prince dismissed his guard to the command of Aithron, and then began his ascent up the ramp into the seventh level. The first thing Imrahil took notice of upon walking into the courtyard was the Tree of Kings – or rather the dead tree these days. Imrahil sighed; never enjoying the sight of what was the image of their decaying realm. It was those thoughts that people had to keep to themselves. The stewards ruled the kingdom these days, but the east was beginning to stir once more, people were no longer feeling safe on the roads. So what could he do to make the people feel more at ease? Nothing more than smile and wave in public, pretending nothing was out of the ordinary. You would think it was his duty to be truthful to the people, but the truth would lead to despair and fear, and the leaders of this realm did not want to cause any panic. So Imrahil was duty bound and had his orders.

The two guards at the main entrance into the throne room stood at attention and saluted the Belfalas prince. The great, high doors slowly swung open, revealing a long, wide hall with a skeletal structure. After the doors closed behind him, Imrahil walked briskly up the room, noticing the empty throne of kings high up behind the steward's throne. His eyes darted to the right, where Finduilas stood, glowing with happiness.

Imrahil came to a halt several metres from where Steward Ecthelion sat. "Lord Ecthelion," he said, bowing, "it is a pleasure to be in your presence once again."

Steward Ecthelion stood, beaming. "Prince Imrahil! Without your noble courage, Gondor would be without a coastline. I am forever indebted to you."

Imrahil smiled warmly. "You give me far too much credit, my lord. I am most thankful to have my men by my side during those tiresome days at sea." It was true; he should not be the only one being congratulated, but that is what captains are for, right? To be congratulated for everyone's efforts and labours.

Ecthelion nodded. "Your men will be known as heroes for as long as they live. And I hope that they will continue to serve your father as gallantly as they have done so far."

Imrahil delayed to respond as he noticed his brother-in-law shift on the spot, avoiding to look directly at him. He also noticed Finduilas frowning at her husband. Turning back to Ecthelion, the young prince smiled once more. "I thank you for you kind words, my lord."

Imrahil turned towards Denethor and Finduilas. "Sister," he said, kissing her hand. "How I have missed you."

Finduilas smiled tenderly. "Brother."

"Denethor," Ecthelion said, causing everyone to turn their attention towards him. "How about you and I take a stroll through the back gardens? I have matters of the realm to discuss with you." Denethor was not pleased to be leaving, not even making eye contact with his wife's brother.

Once they were alone, Imrahil turned to his sister, frowning. "Is something wrong with Lord Denethor?"

"I have no reason to believe otherwise," Finduilas replied, shaking her head. "He has been fine all morning."

Jealous perhaps? Imrahil thought, but gave a casual shrug before embracing his sister tightly. "How have you been?"

"Well," Finduilas replied. "Although, I have been having these awful nightmares as of late, but a healer in Osgiliath gave me a draught to take. It has worked marvellously."

Imrahil frowned, giving his sister a concerned look. "I hope it will stop. You never had any nightmares in Dol Amroth."

"I do not know why I have them," she replied, "but the draught is working, so that is the main thing."

Imrahil nodded, still feeling worried. "I am staying at our family house on the sixth level. Do you wish to accompany me there?"

His sister grinned. "I would love to! I have not been to our family home in Minas Tirith for so long."

"Truly?" Imrahil asked. "I thought the house might have given you some sort of comfort." He offered her his arm and they made their way down the throne room back out into the courtyard.

Finduilas nodded. "The house does make me feel closer to my family, but I did not want to go there constantly in case I started to miss you all too much."

"It would be nice if Lord Denethor would allow you to visit on occasion," Imrahil said, sighing.

"I have asked already," his sister replied. "He keeps telling me that there are not enough men to escort me."

Imrahil gave her a look of shock. "Not enough men? Is he absurd? Gondor has one of the largest armies in Middle-earth. Not to mention that I have written to your husband, informing him that I would come to Minas Tirith and escort you myself."

"What?" she said, spinning around to face him. "Denethor never told me that!"

Imrahil looked at her blankly for a moment, before shaking his head. "I should have known."

"Should have known what?" she asked, continuing to walk.

"Finduilas, there is no doubt that Denethor loves you," he started. "It just seems to me that he does not want to... well... share you."

Finduilas burst out laughing. "Imrahil, dearest brother, I think you are the one being absurd now. Why would Denethor not want to share me?"

"Look at you, Finduilas," Imrahil said. They had reached the gates leading into their home; two men stood guarding the house, while another two patrolled the area. "You are so beautiful and such a kind-hearted woman. I suppose he is worried your interest for him will diminish."

"Why would my interest for him diminish?" she asked as Imrahil opened the gate for her.

"Well he is far older than you. Perhaps he believes you will take an interest in a man of your age."

His sister shook her head. "I am a loyal wife who is bound to obey and serve."

"I know you are," Imrahil replied, not doubting his sister's honour, "but that does not mean Denethor won't worry about losing you."

"Is there a way that I can show him that that will not happen?"

Imrahil sighed and led her over to the stone seat in the front courtyard. "Perhaps. How... affectionate are you towards him?"

Imrahil grinned when he saw his sister's cheeks redden. "I am affectionate towards him."

"May I ask how often you bed him?" In all honest truth, he really did not want to know the answer to that question, for the idea of Denethor even committing the act... Imrahil mentally winced.

"Brother!" Finduilas exclaimed, bringing him back to her attention. "Does that really matter?"

Imrahil grinned once more. "For a man it does. Men want to _feel_ loved. It cannot just be verbal affection, Finduilas."

"And how would you know all of this?" she asked stoutly. "You are not even married!"

Imrahil chuckled, deciding it best not mention his liaisons. "That is true, but I do have married friends. Believe it or not, Finduilas, men like to boast about their intimate relationships with their wives."

"You have not done anything... dishonourable? Have you?"

Imrahil sighed and stood up. Valar, why did she have to ask these questions? "No sister. I am a man of honour towards women, just as our father is."

Finduilas smiled, seemingly satisfied. "Good. I am glad to know that. I would hate for you to father an illegitimate child."

"Now, now, Finduilas, you know how much I love children." That and he knew how to avoid fathering a child with a woman who was not his wife, even though it was not fool proof.

"Marry first." His sister's words were stern - an order.

"Very well," he replied, sitting back down. "You have my word."

They sat in comfortable silence; taking in the warm sunlight and watching the birds splash around in the birdbath across the garden. It was nice having a part of nature at their home in this high, large stone city. No wonder the birds relished in the sparkling water, and sang happily in the two silver birch trees that were planted on either side of the cobbled path leading to the front door. The heather flowers planted along the frontal view of the house attracted bees and other small insects, giving a warm, loving environment.

The housekeeper, Saeleth, an elderly woman dressed in the traditional garb of a Gondorian woman, opened the front door letting the two house cats scurry outside in search of hunt. She noticed the two siblings' moments later and curtseyed. "My lord and lady, I had not expected you so soon."

"It is all right, Saeleth," Imrahil said, standing and offering his hand to Finduilas. They entered the house into the foyer and were led into the sitting room.

Finduilas slumped down into a chair by the front window. "Summer is not as warm as it is in Dol Amroth."

Imrahil sat across from her, watching the cats outside eye the birds in the trees, their tails wagging. "Perhaps the city itself keeps the temperature cooler. Living in a city of stone must keep the city a nice place to recuperate away from the horridness of the summer heat."

"But I prefer the heat," Finduilas insisted. "It is what I am used to."

Imrahil chose not to respond to that, as it would lead to a never-ending argument. Saeleth entered carrying a tray of cool beverages and a selection of summer fruits.

"So, how is Ivriniel?" Finduilas asked, taking a slice of apple.

Imrahil shrugged. "She is not the same woman that she was before her husband died. She still dresses in black."

"Still!" Finduilas exclaimed. "Has father said anything to her?"

"No," Imrahil replied, shaking his head. "He lets her dress as she wishes. Though, he has been making plans for her to remarry at some point in the near future."

"I have a feeling that will not work out well," she replied. "Why would father make her remarry?"

"I think he is hoping that she will stop grieving if she is given a new husband." Something that Imrahil highly disagreed on, but now that he thought of it, lately, he and his father did not agree on much anymore.

Finduilas shook her head with disbelief. "That is far too harsh for Ivriniel. I do not think she will ever stop mourning for her late husband."

"Maybe you should write to Father then," Imrahil suggested, thinking their father would pay attention to his beloved Finduilas. "He might listen to you. After all, you are his favourite daughter."

"Now why do you say that?" Finduilas eyed him sceptically.

Her little brother grinned. "You are married to the next Steward of Gondor. You are the first Princess of Dol Amroth to make such an important marriage in our history. Father feels proud of you. He always boasts at court about your marriage and how wonderful it will be when an heir is born."

Imrahil noticed his sister tighten her grip on the chair's arm. The next words that came from her mouth stunned him.

"I am having trouble conceiving."

"What?" Imrahil said, scrunching his face up with disbelief. "I do not see how that is possible. Our family has a high reputation of being fertile."

"Yet I have been married for over a year and I still have no symptoms of being with-child."

"It takes time, Finduilas. Everyone is different. I am sure it will happen this year," he replied.

"You are sure?" Her voice had pleading in it, her eyes desperate for an answer.

"Positive," he replied, sitting back in his chair. Of course, he was not sure, but he would say anything to bring ease to either of his sisters' minds.

"I hope I have a son," Finduilas said, faintly smiling. "I would love to have a son first, and then a daughter. I can see Denethor doting on his daughter, spoiling her in front of the entire court."

Imrahil smiled, actually believing his sister that Denethor would make a good father. "I do see Denethor being a proud father to a daughter. Nevertheless he will need to have at least one male heir."

"I know," she replied. "That is why I want a son first. Though, whatever comes first is for nature to decide."

Her brother nodded in agreement. "You will make a wonderful mother, Sister."

Finduilas left the company of her brother midafternoon. Imrahil kissed her cheek, watching her leave with an escort back up to the citadel. He leaned on the doorway's frame, his arms crossed. Finduilas truly did seem content with being Denethor's wife. He saw no discomfort whenever she spoke of him; Imrahil even heard affection in her words. Valar love her! He thought, smiling. She had deeply loved another man out of her reach, and now she has accepted her duty admirably and has taken a liking to a man not many women would have looked twice at. She had better patience and a more open-mind that Imrahil would ever have.

A few noblewomen walked along the street, passing by. They noticed the prince and curtsied, rising with shy smiles on all three of their faces. Imrahil bowed his head, giving them a wink. It caused them to huddle close together and giggle. _That_ caused the young prince to choke on a laugh. He always found it highly amusing watching pretty little maids giggle and smile shyly around handsome men. He would never dally with them, but he quite enjoyed teasing them. After they had walked by, he moved off the doorframe and closed the door, deciding it was time for him to bathe and wash off the filth of travelling.

The next morning, Imrahil woke after the first fitful sleep he had had in over ten days. If he had sailed by ship, his sleeping pattern would not have been so affected; horse riding and camping meant danger of being robbed or ambushed – especially during these times. One could never be too careful than to sleep lightly and always be on alert.

By the eighth hour, he set out into the streets and down to the fifth level for a morning stroll. Many shops had only just opened and were still placing their stalls out on display. Knights of the city walked by quickly, preparing for their daily shifts up on the wall, or in alcoves along the many streets. Imrahil always found it interesting to watch the City of Kings come alive during the day with knights, store owners, shoppers, and children making their way to their tutored lessons. It was one thing Steward Ecthelion mastered at – education. He had quite reformed Minas Tirith during his early reign with building many schools and training more tutors to teach the youngsters. If things went well enough, Denethor would continue the reforms of education, for it was no secret that his brother-in-law had a deep love of lore.

Heading back to the sixth level, something caught Imrahil's eye to his right. He paused in mid-stride in front of a jewellers shop. The large, glass window showed a display of beautiful jewels handcrafted by the store owner. One jewel in particular caught his eye – a large rectangle-cut emerald pendant on a silver chain. Oh, sweet Valar have mercy! He thought, his eyes widening slowly. He had seen the exact necklace in his dream during his stay at Annúmben. Gosh! Was he losing his mind? He entered the shop and saw the owner sitting behind a large, oak counter.

"Greetings, my lord," he said, standing up. "I am Echador, maker of the jewels of the citadel. What shall I call you, my lord?"

"I am Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth," Imrahil answered, quite intrigued that the citadel jeweller had his own shop.

Echador bowed low. "An honour, my lord. If it pleases you, Lord Denethor has had many jewels made especially for your sister, the Lady Finduilas. She will have quite a collection very soon."

Imrahil smiled, not surprised at all. "It pleases my well, thank you. I must inquire about on a certain jewel you have on display in your window."

Echador walked over to the window and opened the fine wooden doors. "Which jewel do you speak of, my lord?"

"The emerald pendant."

The jeweller hummed appreciatively as he gently took it out of the display and over to his counter. "A fine piece indeed, my lord. Simple, yet elegant."

"Is it of your design?" Imrahil queried.

Echador smiled. "Of course, my lord. Everything in this shop is of my design."

"May I?" he asked, and he was handed the necklace. He held it up in the morning light, watching it sparkle. "It is very beautiful; I believe I shall purchase it."

Echador nodded. "Certainly, my lord. May I inquire as to who this lovely piece is intended for?"

Imrahil stalled, trying to think what his answer could be. "My sister back home, Princess Ivriniel," he lied.

"A lucky and fortunate sister she is to have a brother like you," the jeweller commented. "I hope she likes it."

"I am sure she will," Imrahil replied.

Leaving the shop, Imrahil felt slightly out of phase with himself. It was not like him to fall for visions – he had never had them before. He knew his aunt on his father's side, Princess Lômiphel had suffered terrible visions, and Imrahil had been raised with the superstition that the elven blood running through the princedom was a cause for such occurrences.

He made it home just before Finduilas arrived for her visit. She came in carrying a loaf of fresh bread still warm from the oven. They sat in the dining hall while the cooks served the bread with a platter of fresh fruit.

"Sister, I believe I will be returning to Dol Amroth in two days," Imrahil said, breaking the pleasant silence.

Finduilas lowered her eyes to her plate. "I wish you could stay longer."

Imrahil shook his head. "I am sorry, but Father needs me in Dol Amroth. I shall take my council with Steward Ecthelion after noon today and then perhaps again before I leave."

"I know. I understand the duties of men," she replied.

Before Imrahil could muster reply, a pageboy ran into the dining room. "Lad, do you know the importance of knocking?" he asked, his brows raised.

The boy looked exhausted. "I have just come here in great haste from the citadel. An important letter from Lamedon has just arrived, addressed to Princess Finduilas."

Finduilas stood up, startled. "Thank you," she said, taking the letter from the boy and gesturing for him to leave at once. Imrahil observed his sister as she sat back down and opened the letter. Her hands were shaking, so Imrahil gently took the opened it on her behalf.

"Dearest Lady Finduilas," Imrahil said, reading the letter aloud. "It is my deepest regret to inform you that Lady Voronda has fallen dangerously ill at her home in Lamedon. My wife, Tatiel has asked for your company during this dire time. If you and your husband, Lord Denethor, are able to make the trip within the week, my wife and I will be indebted to you both. Yours faithfully, Lord Angbor."

"I must leave at once." Finduilas stood up and hurried out of the house. Imrahil groaned aloud as he heard the front door bang open and shut. He stood up and ran off to follow her, still clutching onto the letter. It was these times when he saw just how deep Finduilas' heart went. Imrahil did not attempt to stop his sister, only following quickly in her steps. She came to a black, wooden door and opened it without knocking.

"Finduilas," Denethor said, standing up and hurrying to her side. Imrahil stayed at the doorway, not quite sure what to do.

"I-I just r-received a letter from Lord Angbor, asking that you and I travel to Lamedon," Finduilas said, wiping the tears from her face. It was then when Imrahil decided to assist his brother-in-law by helping Finduilas sit down.

"Why does Lord Angbor desire us to travel to Lamedon?" Denethor asked, kneeling down next to his wife.

"Voronda has fallen ill," Finduilas said. Imrahil handed the letter to Denethor, eyeing him warily. The young prince became quite interested in how Denethor would react to such a request, especially as his wife clearly wanted to go.

The steward's heir stood back up and paced his study as he read the letter silently. After a short while, he placed the letter on his desk and sighed. "I see that my niece's health concerns you greatly, therefore I will allow this trip to happen."

Finduilas sighed with relief, relaxing into the chair. "Thank you, Denethor."

"Imrahil, would you give your sister and I a moment alone?" Denethor asked the young man.

"Certainly," Imrahil replied. "I shall go and inform Lord Ecthelion of this arrangement."

Well that was not what he had expected, Imrahil thought, quite amazed by Denethor's decision to allow the trip to happen. So it now seemed that Finduilas would be travelling to Lamedon in the days to come. That suited Imrahil just fine, for it meant that he would be able to spend more time with his beloved sister. And who knows, maybe, just maybe Denethor would allow Finduilas to visit her home of birth. Imrahil sighed, silently praying such an event would take place. It would do his mother and sister so much good seeing Finduilas again; they needed to see her.

* * *

><p><strong>Character List:<strong>

Ivriniel: Adrahil's oldest child – Imrahil's older sister

Finduilas: Adrahil's youngest daughter – Imrahil older sister

Ecthelion: Steward of Gondor

Denethor: Ecthelion's son and heir. Husband to Finduilas

Saeleth: Housekeeper to the house in Minas Tirith belonging to the Princedom family

Princess Lômiphel: Older sister to Adrahil. Imrahil's Aunt. Married to Lord Moror, who is the brother of Lord Angbor's grandfather.

Echador: Citadel Jeweler who owns his own shop.

**Annúmben** is a city along the coast of Belfalas: it is of my creation

**...**

**Heather Flowers:** English flower with tiny florets which are pinkish purple and grow in spikes on the topmost flowers are very attractive to bees and other flying insects.  
>Colour - PinkPurple.

**Silver Birch:** English Tree; The silver birch is a very adaptable tree and grows in a wide variety of conditions - cold, warm, wet, dry. The bark is a distinctive silver/white with grey bands, but sheds layers leaving darker patches. The wood is not very strong so is usually used in veneers, plywood, leaves are small and almost triangular.  
>Height - Approx. 20m<p> 


End file.
